The Faceless Doll
by Lady Dissonance
Summary: No one ever knew why Tate walked into the school and shot fifteen kids. But no one knew about Goblin and the things he did. They say good people don't just have a bad day and start shooting people. They say it means he wasn't a good person. Maybe that's true. Or maybe there's more to the story than anyone ever knew.


Okay, so I based Goblin off of the rumours circulating around that Mama Langdon's fourth child was an albino named Goblin who was supposed to be a recurring character. I saw pictures of him and this story sort of came to mind. It's really dark and rather disturbing (American Horror Story is both of those though so I don't think it's going too far) and it sort of explains some things about Tate and why he actually killed those kids. This is_** NOT**_ slash, it's rated T because of some graphic violent scenes. Goblin doesn't rape Tate or anything sexual but he does some disturbing things (he makes Tate strip but not because he wants to get down and dirty with him or anything). Violet won't be in this or anyone from after Tate died but his family and the kids he killed will be in it. It takes place a few weeks before Tate shoots up the school. There's no romance in it, sorry. But Tate is in it and he's even awesomer than romance. ;) Anyway, hope you like it and sorry if anyone seems OOC it's sort of hard to write from a high school shooter's POV.

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"Tate." The raspy voice sounded like it came from all around me but I knew it was really only echoing around in the basement. He didn't know where I was. I didn't need to come out. I buried my head in my arms and whispered prayers under my breath, swallowing hysteria.

"Why are you hiding? You know I will find you." I rocked back and forth, stifling sobs. It was true; he always found me. No matter where I hid, he found me. It was like the house guided him to me. I hated this place, this house. It wasn't like other houses because it filled you up. The hate and stench of death was rank in the air and it got inside your head, making you do bad things. I'd done a bad thing again.

"You shouldn't have done that, Tate." I clasped a shaking hand over my mouth to stifle a whimper and raised my head, gazing fearfully around the basement. Everything was blurry through my tears but I could still make out the shape of the old, musty shelving. And a figure slowly walking close to the shelving, trailing a pale hand over it. It could've been my brother… or it could've been a ghost.

After so many years of living with them, ghosts didn't scare me anymore. My brother, on the other hand, terrified me more than anything. More than death itself. I wanted to cry out to Adelaide or Beauregard, my other older siblings, but there was nothing they could do to help me. There was nothing anyone could do to help me against_ him_.

"There you are, Tate." The voice had dropped even lower but I could still hear it. My whole body shivered with the knowledge of what would come next. With the memory of the pain. The figure stopped in front of the desk I hid under and all I could see were legs. Then a waist appeared as he crouched down, then a bare chest tickled by fur from the coat draped over its shoulders. Finally the neck and face appeared. That terrifying, blank face.

Pale pink eyes rimmed with red gave him a look of permanent exhaustion and turned what could've been a handsome face into a disgusting one. Those eyes were blank, always so blank and cold. Completely white hair waved gently around his head, and the way it stayed perfectly in place made him seem like a plastic figurine. Even his lips were pale compared to a normal persons'; he looked more like a ghost than any dead spirit in this house. This was the horror that was my older brother; he had been born an albino. A sick, sadistic albino who lived for one purpose. To please our mother.

"P-please, Goblin." His name was our mother's joke. She was cruel as well, and that's saying a lot because I was her favourite child. She treated me better than any of us and I hated her more than any of us. She treated Goblin like dog shit but he loved her and revered her as if she were a goddess.

Goblin didn't reply; he only reached towards me with that pale, pale hand. I shrunk back, whimpering and begging but nothing I ever said made him stop doing something. He seized a handful of my hair and stood up, dragging me out howling from under the table.

"No, no, no! Stop! I promise I won't do it again, I promise!" That was a lie, of course. Mama kept dogs and they always barked. They kept us all up so late but she refused to get rid of those damn dogs. Those dogs made me so angry. They'd never done anything to hurt me but they were so loud all of the time. All I ever wanted was peace and quiet where I could read my books on birds. So, last night, I'd decided to make some peace and quiet. I'd taken every single one of those goddamn filthy creatures and shot them. Bang, bang, bang, bang. They all shut up.

"Mama thinks you're turning into a psychopath." Goblin's voice sounded even more emotionless than a robot's. It had never had any emotions in it because Goblin didn't feel emotions.

"I'm not," I sobbed, raising my hands to the sides of my head and clutching at my dirty blonde locks. "I'm not a psychopath!" The hysteria had bubbled up in me and burst forth like a scream. I wasn't a psychopath. Everyone thought that I was because I shot those dogs but I shot them because I didn't want to kill them with my bare hands. I shot them because I didn't like feeling the life leave my victims. Mama had made me kill a chicken once—to cleanse the house, she said—and it was horrible. I cut its throat and held it while it struggled against my grip and then slowly grew rigid and stopped struggling.

"If Mama says so, then it's true," Goblin said mechanically, raising me off the ground by my hair. I could feel it being ripped from my scalp, the feeling of the roots coming out making me cry. I knew what he'd do next. Goblin was monster. And, despite his awful appearance and stiff personality, he was a very creative monster.

He lowered me slowly so that my feet could touch the floor and my hair wouldn't be torn from my skull with all of my weight. Then he started dragging me. Towards the dusty wooden steps leading up and out of the basement.

"Stop! Stop! Please, don't do this!"

He dragged me across the floor quickly and painfully, dust and old soot staining my clothes. I cried out and struggled but he continued on with a face made out of stone. Up the stairs we went, just as quick as the flat floor; thump, thump, thump, thump all the way up until we were in the hallway.

"Mama!" I screamed. "Mama, help me! Help me! Please, please, Mommy. Mommy, help!"

Goblin paused and I could hear the sound of Mama's high heels tapping across the floor. Through the kitchen, through the hallway, through the living room, through another hallway and then there she stood at the door to the hallway Goblin and me stood in. The house was eerily silent for a moment, and then my whimpers filled its halls again.

"Mama he's going to hurt me. Don't let him hurt me."

Addie, my older sister with Down syndrome, crept up behind my mother and peered out at me. She looked from me to my mother and back again.

"Mama, Tate's a good boy," Addie murmured in her slightly accented voice, pity colouring her tone. "I don't think you should let Goblin take him."

I tried to express my gratitude through my eyes but they were too full of tears to do much of anything. Mama raised an eyebrow, looking from me to Goblin to Addie. Then she reached into the purse she always kept on her shoulder and rummaged around, pulling out a glittering bag filled with cigarettes. She took one and put it in her mouth then took a lighter out of her bag, flicking it and holding it at the end of the cigarette until it glowed a bright orange. She shut the lighter with a flick of her wrist, put it and the bag of smokes back into her purse, then took her cigarette between two long, slim fingers and smoked for a while, contemplating.

We all stood—or in my case painfully sort of squatted—there for a couple of tense moments before she seemed to reach a decision. She lifted her chin a fraction and blew smoke towards the ceiling before fixing a skeptical gaze on me.

"Tate," she said with a shake of her head that sent her large, blonde curls bouncing, "you've been a very bad boy." I knew then that she'd been planning this all along and felt my heart sink. She shook her head and turned, sashaying out of the room, probably to go and have another drink where she could forget about the horrible things she did.

"You bitch!" I screamed after her as Goblin made for the stairs leading up to his 'toy room.' It sounded brave but I was shaking like a leaf. The last thing I glimpsed before Goblin dragged me up the stairs was Addie looking incredibly sad. She was the only one who ever stood up for me. Goblin obeyed my mother no matter what and Beau was too stupid to even know what was going on.

"Nooooo," I moaned as my feet clunked up the last step and Goblin dragged me across the hall floor to his room. He kicked open the door and threw me inside. I grabbed at his fur coat so I didn't fly across the room and actually managed to get a hold of him. Unfortunately, the only thing I succeeded in was ripping his coat off and leaving him standing with every muscle in his upper body exposed. I clutched the coat to my chest as if it would offer some form of protection from what he was planning.

He kicked the door shut behind him and I heard it click; locked from the outside. Mama had purposefully had a door like that made to keep him in. I scrambled against the wall and gazed up at him fearfully as he stepped towards me. He looked at my face almost hungrily. It was obvious that my face was what he wanted; Mama loved me because I was beautiful. If he had my face, he'd be beautiful so Mama would love him.

His hand snaked up over his head and grabbed one of the dolls hanging there. His 'toy room' wasn't called a toy room for nothing. It was filled with faceless, naked dolls hanging by strings from his ceiling. He thought they were beautiful because their faces had no flaws, like mine apparently. The difference was that their faces had no flaws because they didn't have faces. I had nightmares over and over again that I didn't have a face from those dolls.

He ripped the doll from the ceiling and held it in front of him, stroking its face. "This is Tate," he whispered, more to himself than anyone. I shook my head from side to side slowly, wishing I could just run away. I could run fast if I had the space. I'd joined track and field at school to get away from Goblin and it turned out I was good at it. I'd had enough experiencing running from family members in a rage.

"This is you," he added, as if for my benefit, holding the doll out for me to see it. Tears streamed down my face and I couldn't speak. Fear can do that to a person.

His face contorted in the closest thing he had to a smile. I shuddered and completely flattened myself against the wall, wishing Addie was strong enough to help me. Goblin turned away from me and walked over to his closet, opening it to reveal a set of knives hanging on hooks. He selected a small, delicate knife that gleamed gently in the light and slowly removed it. He walked over back in front of me again, that hideous smile-like expression on his face.

"You are beautiful, Tate. So beautiful. That's your sin."

My face crumpled as knelt down in front of me and held out the doll, showing it to me. He took the small knife and began slowly running it across the doll's face, thin cuts exposing white fluff that oozed out. I pressed my lips together, still shaking my head. He made one final cut deeper than the rest near where the doll's nose would be if the doll had a nose. Then he looked up at my face.

He slowly reached up and wiped the tears off of my face. More kept coming and he seemed to get frustrated that he couldn't completely get rid of them so he gave up. He took my chin in his hand and tilted my face up to his.

"Take your clothes off, Tate."

He let go of my face and turned around while I obeyed. I obeyed because there was nothing else to do. When I was completely naked, like the doll, I sank back down against the wall and pulled my knees up to my chest. He didn't care what I was doing or what parts of me he could see as long as I was naked like the doll.

He turned around and came back to kneel beside me. This time he took my chin in one hand again and didn't let go. He held the doll and knife up in the same hand.

"This is you, Tate," he repeated. Then he took the knife and pressed it to my face in exactly the same spot he'd first pressed it into the dolls'. My screams didn't stop until well over an hour later.


End file.
